You Again
by theWeekendSquared
Summary: "Hello, Max. I'm Max." "No, you're not." Those three words had RUINED my life. And while SHE gets to fly around and be free with Greek god Fang, I get to be stuck in the School playing GoFish with my BFFs Ari and Turd-Boy. IT'S NOT FAIR. (T for language) (set after SO-F)


**Nothing new, I pushed the entire story into one chapter and I had to post it as a new document because this website is being a moron.**

 **So go ahead and read it, but it's nothing new -you'll just not be required to click the _next chapter_ button. **

* * *

SUBJECT 067

LOG 001

BEGIN VOICE LOG TRANSCRIPT

 _"Hello, Max. I'm Max."_

 _"No, you're not."_

Those three words had _ruined_ my life. I was made to be her clone –a friggin' exact copy. My whole life I was bred to look like Max, act like Max, think like Max –and then she dismissed my entire existence with that one sentence.

Uh, hello? I think my DNA – _our_ DNA tells a different story. My name is Max II -it literally says, _Max, too._

No point getting all pissed about it.

Actually, there _is_ a point getting all pissed about it. I had almost, almost, _almost_ made it. I had nearly fooled the Flock into thinking that I was the real deal. That was how legit I was. Even the dark-haired boy (the boy that would have the power to make any straight girl's head turn if he had the luxury of a haircut, shower, and change of clothes), the one who was supposedly the closest to Max, like, her right-hand man or whatever, believed that I was her.

Because I _am_ her.

And I had fooled the rest of the Flock, too.

The Flock. What a stupid name for a group of ragtag kids who haven't showered or shaved since bell-bottoms were a thing. Sounds like the name of one of those shitty opening bands that plays at indie music festivals before the main act, which is really just another shitty band but people pretend to like it because they don't want to feel like losers who just spent seventy dollars on some crap music festival ticket because they also wanted to feel like they had a life.

But someone had conveniently forgotten that the stupid six-year-old girl had mind reading powers like a fucking Jedi, and she used the Force to read my very… private thoughts.

I think it was my fantasy about dry-humping the dark-haired kid that got her to realize that I wasn't Max.

Even though I _am_.

On the record, it's not my fault he's attractive.

 _Off_ the record, my fantasy about dry-humping him has not gone away. If anything, it's intensified. But you didn't need to know that. That's why it's off the record.

Don't give me that look. You locked me in this room so I could vent my feelings. It's not _my_ fault my thoughts are making you uncomfortable.

Damn whitecoats.

Do I think my life is a failure? Hmm…

As Ari's stupid Magic-8 ball would say, _Signs point to yes_.

* * *

Ari looked at Max II nervously. "You sure about this?"

She snorted. "This is the _only_ thing in my life that I'm sure of."

"But I have to warn you, revenge is kinda extreme –"

"Hey. _You_ of all people do not get to tell me what's extreme! You tried to kill her _twice_ , remember? I'm not trying to do anything like that. I'm just trying to… make her realize what she did to me."

Ari glanced at the girl sitting next to him, driving the car, and felt a lurch of apprehension. "And… what exactly did she do to you?"

"She made my life worthless."

"Right…"

"So I'm going to make _her_ life worthless. It's not that hard, bucko. Comprendes?"

"How d'you plan on doing that?"

…

SUBJECT 067

LOG 002

BEGIN VOICE LOG TRANSCRIPT

Everyone has their happy place.

And you can tell a lot about someone from their happy place.

For my BFF Ari (who is super annoying but also the only person who'll talk to me for longer than thirty seconds without getting completely freaked out), that place is the library. Yeah, someone built a stupid room with a few stupid shelves with a few damn books and couple rickety chairs, and he practically lives in that place. You can tell he's a book nerd who needs to get a life.

For my handler/creator/personal Satan (whose given name is Jeb Batchelder, apparently), that place is the coffee room. I've never _seen_ that man without a cup of 'joe in his hands. It's too much to hope that he'll die from a caffeine overdose. You can tell he's a workaholic who needs constant approval.

And then there's the head honcho of the entire stinkin' School, who goes by the name Marian Jannsen, but we (me and Ari, alright, mostly me) all like to call her Miss Piss-a-lot because that part-tortoise lady has the bladder of a 106-year-old woman. (UPDATE: She really _is_ 106\. Huh. She doesn't look a day over 95 to me. Poor woman should really spring for some Botox.) _Her_ happy place is the control room, where she can keep tabs on all her successful and not-so-successful experiments. You can tell she's a control freak. Literally. Go up to her and tell her, so I can laugh in your sorry ass when she shoots you from behind.

And for _me_ … my happy place is that little closet between Operating Room 1 and Storage Room 26-B. I can just wedge myself in between the furnace and the water heater (you know, for when they boil fish-kids) and I can just _think_. About how my life sucks, while my clone's life is probably amazing. Because she has _Fang_.

I've never told anyone this, but I think I might be in love.

I hate romance. I don't think it exists, and even if it did, what are my options? The unfortunately split half-rhino kid who can't speak English and is going to die next month of a tumor? The Flyboys that creak and groan? That lecherous Eraser Jones who tries to slap my ass in the hallways? No, no, and I might consider it, but you'll have to get me hella drunk first.

But Fang… man, he's a beaut.

I mean, I've only ever seen him once, when I was pretending to be Max – _myself_ –and he made it pretty clear that if Max hadn't ripped my throat out, he would, but I've convinced myself he was just playing hard to get.

Come on. What does Max have that I don't? Absolutely nothing, seeing as though I'm her exact copy. Boy couldn't even tell the difference between us without relying on a six-year-old!

Why don't _I_ get a winged kid that has hair darker than night and eyes that can see into your soul?

IT'S NOT FAIR.

Okay, hun. Take deep breaths. Go into your happy place.

The only thing that's worse than having a crush on someone you can never have is having an itch that you can't scratch.

And I know, because I have both right now.

* * *

"So… you're going to kidnap Fang?" Ari asked Max II uncertainly.

She busied herself examining her reflection in the windshield of the Jeep. "Basically."

"You know, they could just make you a clone if you asked nicely –"

"Bull _shit_."

"I'm just saying –they're probably toying with the idea of a Fang clone anyway–"

She shuddered. "Ugh. I wouldn't want to be anywhere near _that_."

Ari looked at her curiously. "Why not?"

"You think I should be with a clone? Because I'm a clone? Why don't _I_ deserve the real thing?" Max II asked crossly, twisting a strand of dirty blonde hair around one finger. "I'm more _Maxy_ than the real Max ever will be. I'm sarcastic. I'm funny. I'm a kick-ass fighter. That's Max in a nutshell."

"But he's already with Max."

"You hate Max as much as I do. Why're you so peaky about me doing this?"

"I… I'm worried that we'll get punished for doing an unauthorized mission. _And_ we stole a Jeep. You saw what happened to Jones when he stole that Volvo. Also, Fang's a pretty decent fighter. If I hadn't clawed him in the stomach, he would've killed me for sure."

Max II frowned at him. "You hate Max as much as I do," she repeated. "Don't you?"

Ari stared determinedly at the sky, biting his tongue. "Sure." He winced as she slammed her foot into the accelerator, throwing him backwards. This girl drove like a madman, but then again… she kind of _was_ a madman. "You're going to get us arrested with your crazy driving. I look more like an adult than you do."

Max II snorted. "Yeah, but you're like, _seven_. And don't worry, I got it covered. This'll be fun!" she said, grinning at his expression. "I'll even let you pick the radio station. Lighten up, cuz."

"We're not technically related–"

"Oh, don't make me wish they _hadn't_ fused your bones back together."

…

SUBJECT 067

LOG 003

BEGIN VOICE LOG TRANSCRIPT

There's a new guy.

In the cage right next to mine. I dunno what sorta animal they crossed him with, because he looks to be part porcupine and part slug.

Poor guy, he's totally terrified. I should tell him that there's nothing to worry about, right?

But then again, he seems to be another one of those less-than-successful experiments. Janssen doesn't allow anyone to say the word 'failed'. Says it ruins the _chi_ of the place or something. It's like when I was being forced to play dodgeball, back during my training, and I had to play against the biggest and baddest Erasers. Naturally, I lost, but instead of being branded the loser, I was being branded as the 'not-winner'. I don't get why the whitecoats go to all this trouble to make us feel like we're worth something when we all know they're waiting to slice our brains open with scalpels and find out what they did wrong so they can just fuck up the next generation of experiments even more.

 _"Hey. Turd-Boy."_

It's not my fault he looks like giant turd, with the slug gloop sticking out of the top of his head. Who the hell thought this combination of DNA was a good idea? What kind of super-human powers does a slug even have? Extreme grossness? Turd-Boy's got that one covered.

He's not moving. Maybe he's dead. It wouldn't be the first time. Many of these experiments die in their sleep. Oh, well. At least I don't have to pretend to lie to him and be nice. Because it only goes downhill from here, let me tell you.

First, they treat you like crap.

Then, they treat you like something the crap dragged in.

And _then_ , they either forget about you and leave you to starve to death (if you're lucky), or they treat you like the dead flies that died eating the crap that the crap dragged in.

I have a feeling Turd-Boy's going to have a lot of fun here.

* * *

"You know, the actual kidnapping was way easier than I thought. No screaming, nothin'. Guess they weren't kidding when they said he didn't talk at all." Max II remarked, as Ari hefted an unconscious Fang into his arms. In the slight sliver of light the full moon was giving off she could get a glimpse of his face –like that of a baby angel fallen from heaven… headfirst into a Dumpster. He was absolutely gorgeous.

"I still don't feel that great about this."

"Shut up or else we _won't_ go to Taco Bell on the way back."

That shut Ari up.

"Now we've _got_ to get out of here before Miss Congeniality wakes up to find her boyfriend missing and all hell breaks loose. And don't think about _anything_ , otherwise that little demon mind-reader from hell's gonna wake up and we'll be dead."

…

SUBJECT 067

LOG 005

BEGIN VOICE LOG TRANSCRIPT

You probably used to play card games when you were a kid, like War, or GoFish, or even Old Maid. Those games are all based on luck -no skill whatsoever.

Coincidentally, I would always lose those. And consequently, _I'd_ be the one mopping up the Dissection Room after the latest craniotomy or whatever. And let me tell you firsthand, scrubbing dried guts off the walls (who even _knows_ how it got there) is not as great as it sounds on paper.

Bottom line was, I had the worst luck. _I'd_ always get the two, I'd always get the Old Maid, and I'd always get the one card that I had no use for and no one seemed to want.

No one says, "Got any… Max clones?" Because who wants a Max clone when the real thing is apparently so fucking perfect and unique? Dumbasses.

But my luck's about to change. You remember my first voice log, when I said that Max had completely ruined my life with those three words. You remember when I said that I wanted to make _her_ life meaningless. You remember when I said I had dreams of dry-humping Fang. You remember all that... I can see you getting uncomfortable again. So you _do_ remember.

Well, tonight, I'm going to implement my dastardly plan.

I'm going to kidnap Fang. I'm going to make him mine through my charm (and sheer brute force, if I have to), and then Max will be totally crushed, just like _I_ was when she reduced my entire existence to dust.

Plus, I'll finally be able to make out with the boy whose eyes haunts my dreams, which is a plus.

I'm taking Ari, but not Turd-Boy. He's not… cage-broken yet. I hope he'll understand.

This goes for you, too, Max.

 _No hard feelings._

Oh yeah -if you blab about this to anyone I'll have Turd-Boy sit on your face and rip one. You've been warned.

* * *

"How's your taco?" Max II asked Ari as she bit down into her fourth seven-layer burrito.

Ari shrugged. "'S okay."

"Man, fast food has never tasted better." Max II exhaled, before starting on her fifth burrito.

Ari toyed with his taco, unable to eat. "You think we should get something for… him?"

She wiped her mouth and stared at Ari. "What, like a salad?"

"We've got an unconscious person in the trunk of our car –"

"And you think if he wakes up to a stale taco, he'll be totally fine with the situation?" She snorted. "I've got it under control."

"Well, we should really get moving, because Max probably would've found out by now that Fang's missing."

"You're damn right I have."

Max II stared at Ari. "Tell me that she's not standing right behind me."

Ari had turned white. "Uh… she's not standing right behind you."

"Shit. Shit. _Shit_ … This is going to ruin Taco Bell for me forever." Max II complained before turning around. "Hey, sweets. Enjoying the party? Grab a couple of tacos, on me. Aww, look. She brought the entire Flock." Minus Fang, of course.

The blond-haired boy standing behind her actually looked a little tempted, but the devil herself was _mad_. "You again."

"I think you mean _you_ again, since I'm you, basically."

"Where's Fang?"

Max II swallowed the last elephant-sized bite of her burrito and sighed. "What, no formalities? Today's my birthday, you know –"

Max had seized her by the collar. "Don't test me. I kicked your ass once, I can easily do it again. Where. Is. He."

"I'm just saying, it'd be nice to hear a birthday greeting from my favorite sister…"

"We're not sisters. You're just a piece of DNA taken from me that was turned into an unfortunate shadow of a person. And _my_ favorite sister is Ella Martinez."

Max II frowned. "What –that Hispanic chick? Seriously?"

" _Where's Fang_?"

"Kiss my ass."

It happened almost instantaneously. Ari watched as the original Max launched herself at his friend the clone, and they started rolling around on the floor together. He stayed rooted to his spot, as did the rest of Max's Flock, and they watched as the two girls kicked, jabbed, punched, and clawed at each other. Ari couldn't even tell which one he should be rooting for; they both looked so similar.

…

SUBJECT 067

LOG 006

BEGIN VOICE LOG TRANSCRIPT

There's a lesson to be learned in all this.

I just have no idea what the hell it is.

Max and I are too evenly matched. We could go for infinity and there wouldn't be a clear winner. That's the truth. That was what I realized, as we rolled around on the dirty flooring of the sketchy Taco Bell. I'm sure that's the stuff of every boy's porn dreams right there.

But the only reason she took home Fang instead of me last night was because I _let_ her win. Because, after a few well-placed kicks to the head and heart, I realized that it would be unfair. I can't steal Fang just to spite her. I mean, I _can_ , and I almost _did_ , but I didn't really want to.

Besides, I've given up on ever making out with Fang. He belongs with Max. Who is not me.

My new crush is Channing Tatum. Marian Janssen was watching Magic Mike XXL in the control room, the saucy minx, and I peeked into the control room for a good two hours. Ohh, he's the jet fuel to my steel beams.

I realized that I will always, always, always let Max win. Not because I want to. But because I _have_ to. She's the good person in all of this. She's the one tasked with saving the world. I'm just the cruddy card in the GoFish game that no one wants. And I'm... well, that's the card I've been dealt. And so I'm okay with that. I'm okay with spending my days in the closet between Operation Room 1 and Storage Room 26-B, imagining life as a supermodel. I'm okay with hanging out with Ari and Turd-Boy as we plot to take over the world. I'm okay with trying to teach myself the strategy behind Minesweeper on Jeb's outdated computer (start at the corners, not the middle).

Maybe _that's_ the lesson.

Oh, and also, Turd-Boy seems to have a crush on me. He can say three words now – 'turd', 'asshat', and 'pumpernickel'. I'm trying to get him to learn how to say 'Maya'. Because that's my new name. I found it in one of Ari's books, and I think it suits me really well. Maybe now I'll have a chance to beat that Hispanic chick at her own game.

So there's hope.

Max is not me. I am not her.

My name is Maya. I've cut my hair short and dyed a streak of it blue with abandoned hydrochloric acid on a whim. I look like a malnourished Ken doll, but it's worth it. I am my own person, finally. I can be free. I can live.

And who knows? Maybe, if I'm lucky, one day Fang will start his own flock and invite me to be _his_ right-hand man.

But that's just a pipe dream.

Till then, this is Maya (formerly Max II, born as Subject 067). I'm signing off forever.

You don't have to look so relieved, you know.

...

"So, you sure you want to do this?" Ari asked Maya nervously.

She grinned at her two best friends -the Eraser who had always stayed by her side, and the slug-boy who was actually growing into something less terrifying. "I'm dead sure."

Ari winced. "Don't say that word..."

"Ma-ya," Turd-Boy managed, and she grinned at him.

"Yep. That's me."

And together, the three friends proceeded to pour Mentos and Coke into the coffee machine. When her good friend Jeb would show up for his morning coffee, all hell would break loose.

Again.


End file.
